He followed me to the elevators.

I could feel him behind me, his presence heavy and suffocating. Eddie's hand tightened in mine, and I squeezed back, trying to reassure him even as my own heart hammered against my ribs.

"Wait," Alistair said, his voice low. "Just—wait."

I stopped. I shouldn't have, but I did. Maybe some part of me needed to hear what he'd say. What excuse he'd offer for the way he'd destroyed me.

He stepped around to face me, blocking my path. Up close, he looked worse. Dark circles under his eyes. A tightness around his mouth that spoke of sleepless nights and bad decisions.

"My Luna is useless," he said bluntly. "The pack's failing. I need—" He stopped, his nostrils flaring as he breathed in my scent. His pupils dilated. "You smell incredible."

I said nothing.

"I can offer you protection," he continued, his voice dropping to something that might have been seductive if it wasn't so pathetic. "A place in my pack. You'd be my Pack Mistress. All you'd have to do is warm my bed."

The words hung in the air between us.

Slowly, I reached up and removed my sunglasses.

Recognition hit him like a physical blow. His face went white. Then red.

"Kaia," he breathed.

"Hello, Alistair."

For a moment, he just stared. Then his expression twisted into something ugly. "You survived. Of course you did. What, did you spread your legs for some Rogue Alpha? Is that how you're still breathing?"

I felt Eddie flinch beside me. My wolf snarled, pushing against my skin, but I held her back.

"You look like hell," Alistair continued, his voice dripping with contempt. "Bet you've been living in the gutter, haven't you? Scraping by. That's why you're here—looking for scraps."

Before I could respond, a shrill voice cut through the lobby.

"Alistair!"

Nola.

She swept toward us in a cloud of expensive perfume and fake fur, her heels clicking against the marble. But underneath the designer clothes and carefully applied makeup, I could see the cracks. The desperation.

Her eyes landed on me, and her face contorted with rage.

"You," she hissed. "What are you doing here? How dare you show your face—"

"Nola," Alistair started, but she wasn't listening.

She was staring at my hand. At the locket I'd been holding for Eddie—the one Jericho had painstakingly repaired after Nola destroyed the original. My mother's locket.

"Still clinging to that old thing?" Nola's voice rose, shrill and mocking. "Pathetic. You're pathetic, Kaia. A rogue whore playing dress-up."

She lunged forward and snatched the locket from my hand before I could react.

"No—" I started, but she was already moving.

She threw it.

The locket arced through the air and landed in the lobby fireplace with a soft clink. Flames licked at the delicate silver, blackening it. Melting it.

The last piece of my mother. Gone.

Something inside me went very, very still.

"Mama?" Eddie's voice was small, frightened.

I looked down at him. His face was pale, his breathing shallow. The tension in the lobby was affecting him—too many aggressive wolves, too much hostile energy.

"It's okay, baby," I whispered, kneeling beside him. "We're leaving."

But Alistair stepped forward, his face twisted with anger. He'd been ignored. Dismissed. And his pride couldn't take it.

"You don't walk away from me," he snarled.

His Alpha Aura slammed into the lobby like a tidal wave.

It crashed over me, heavy and oppressive, trying to force me to my knees. My wolf rose to meet it, pushing back, but Eddie—

Eddie gasped.

His small body crumpled, his knees hitting the marble floor. His hands clutched at his chest, his mouth open as he struggled to breathe.

"Eddie!" I caught him before he could fall completely, my arms wrapping around his trembling body. "Someone get a healer! Now!"

Movement at the edge of my vision. A woman in healer's robes—Elena Winters, I recognized her from Shadow Ridge—started forward.

Nola stepped into her path.

"Don't," Nola said coldly. "We're not wasting pack resources on a rogue brat."

Elena hesitated, her eyes darting between Nola and Eddie's struggling form.

"Let him die," Nola continued, her voice carrying across the silent lobby. "One less piece of trash in the world."

Eddie's breathing grew more labored. His lips were turning blue.

And something inside me snapped.

The glass doors exploded.

Shards rained down like crystal snow as Jericho's security detail breached the entrance. But I barely registered them. All I could see was him.

Jericho.

He strode through the wreckage, his presence filling the massive lobby like a physical force. The air itself seemed to bend around him, crackling with power that made my skin prickle even from across the room.

His Lycan Aura hit like a sledgehammer.

Every wolf in the lobby dropped. Alphas, Betas, warriors—it didn't matter. They all went down, their knees slamming into marble with sickening cracks. Gasps and choked screams echoed off the walls as the pressure crushed them into submission.

Alistair collapsed beside me, his face contorted in agony. Nola hit the floor hard, her designer heels skittering across the polished stone.

But Jericho's aura didn't touch me. It wrapped around me like a shield, warm and protective, even as it destroyed everyone else.

He walked past Alistair without a glance. Past Nola. Past all of them.

His eyes were only for Eddie.

He scooped our son into his arms with a gentleness that contradicted the lethal energy radiating from every inch of his body. Eddie's breathing was still shallow, but the moment Jericho's hands touched him, some of the tension left his small frame.

"Who dared to harm the Lycan Prince?"

Jericho's voice was quiet. Deadly. It cut through the silence like a blade.

No one answered. No one could. They were all too busy trying to breathe under the weight of his power.

He turned to me, his dark eyes softening for just a moment. "Are you hurt?"

I shook my head. My throat was too tight to speak.

Jericho's gaze swept the room, landing on each prostrate wolf in turn. Then he spoke again, his voice carrying the unmistakable command of a king.

"Rise."

The pressure eased. Not completely—just enough for them to struggle to their feet. Alistair hauled himself up, his face pale and slick with sweat. Nola clutched at a marble column, her carefully styled hair falling into her face.

Jericho shifted Eddie to one arm and reached for me with the other. His hand found the small of my back, pulling me close. Then he kissed me.

It wasn't gentle. It was possessive. Claiming. A public declaration that left no room for doubt.

When he pulled back, his voice rang out across the lobby.

"This is Kaia Hayes. My mate. My equal. Your Lycan Queen."

The silence that followed was deafening.

I watched the realization dawn on face after face. Shock. Disbelief. Horror.

But it was Alistair's expression that held my attention. The color had drained from his face completely. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. His eyes—those eyes that had once looked at me with love—were wide with something that looked like terror.

"No," he whispered. "No, that's not—she's not—"

"She is." Jericho's tone was ice. "And you will address her as Your Majesty."

Alistair's wolf was fighting him. I could see it in the way his hands trembled, the way his jaw clenched. He'd rejected his true mate. Rejected royalty. And now he was paying the price.

But I wasn't done.

I stepped forward, pulling away from Jericho's protective hold. My wolf surged to the surface, and I felt my eyes shift—white light bleeding through as my Alpha power rose.

I looked at Nola.

She was still clinging to the column, her face a mask of terror and rage. When our eyes met, she flinched.

"You destroyed my mother's locket," I said quietly. "You threatened my son. You told a healer to let him die."

Nola's mouth worked. "I—I didn't mean—"

"I challenge you." The words came out steady. Final. "For the insult to my family. For the destruction of my heirloom. I challenge you to a duel."

Nola's eyes went wide. "No. No, I'm Luna of Shadow Ridge. I don't have to—"

"You do."

The voice came from the edge of the crowd. An older man stepped forward, his silver hair gleaming under the lobby lights. Marcus Blackwood. Head of the Werewolf Council.

He looked at Nola with cold assessment. "An insult to the Royal Family must be answered. You have two choices, Luna Ross. Accept the challenge, or be executed for treason on the spot."

Nola's face went from pale to gray. She looked at Alistair, desperate, but he was staring at me like he'd seen a ghost.

No help there.

She turned back to me, and I saw the moment she realized she had no way out.

"I accept," she whispered.

My wolf smiled.